


Part II

by tokii



Series: 壊れた方 [35]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokii/pseuds/tokii
Summary: Uhtred and the band recover from their daring escape.Tag: Yellow (Fine).
Series: 壊れた方 [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542805





	Part II

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophisthoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisthoe/gifts).

Part II

Finan the Cunt

Finan shields the light spilling through the window, cupping his hands over the sleep still hanging heavy on his eyelids. Sihtric’s calls bounce up from the river, Uhtred’s snide prattle rattling against the wooden door fixed at the end of the hall. Finan presses both his fists into his ears, whistling harshly through his nose. Osferth’s laughter bounds off the curve of the pagan ceiling and Finan jerks the damp fur from his waist, torqueing his side. He groans, dropping his head back as he grips at the pain, sneering at the ceiling, “Ah, you’re a fucking cunt, Finan.” He prods the tender flesh, pink line winking just below his ribs, skin pulled tight over his abdomen. Fur tickles his arse as he rolls from the bed, forearm guarding his side. He lifts a stained shirt from the ribbed floorboards, pulling it over his head. It drapes nearly to his knees and he shrugs, pushing his shoulder into the heavy door at the end of Coccam Hall. Finan fumbles with his shirt sleeve, eyes scarcely open in the blinking midday sun. He putters toward the river, wincing at the blinding sight of Uhtred’s tight arse jutting over the riverbank.

“Finan, what are you doing out of your bed?” Uhtred sings, bobbing his head while wringing the water from his shirt.

“I tire of being clothed, Lord,” Finan bellows, waddling down the earthen curve on the water’s edge. The top of his lip raises with a lift of his bushy brow, “I yearn to be naked.”

Sihtric smirks, leaning back against the dry bank. He shakes his head as he jams his blade into the flesh of a dripping apple. Odd grunts cause Sihtric to peer over the hump of his snack at a struggling Finan. Finan’s shirt collar catches under his bearded chin, his fruits swinging as he pulls at the shirt tangled round his neck. Finan growls a Gaelic curse, Sihtric nodding absently at the familiar whirling of the last syllable as he continues skinning his apple.

“Will you be needing help with that, Finan?” Uhtred motions with his chin, looking down his nose as he settles both his hands on his waistband.

“No, Lord,” Finan groans, flicking his shirt off into the river, great pride wrinkling his shaggy cheeks. Finan sighs, sinking into the chilled water. He bats his eyes at the coolness on his burning side. “You’re free to join me, though.”  
  


“You know,” Sihtric nods, slipping a slice of apple between his teeth, “It’s that mouth of yours that got you cut in the first place. They could hear your bullshit from across the field.” Uhtred chuckles into the air, pulling baggy trousers up over his bare thighs.

“I had to lure them somehow, Sihtric. And Osferth just wasn’t running fast enough,” Finan’s chin plucks up in a half-formed grin.

Osferth’s head pops out from behind a large stone centered in the shallow of the river. “I’m offended, I’ll have you know,” he responds, flatly. He prods his bent ribcage before throwing a shirt over his freckle-splotched shoulders. His smile arches up crookedly, tongue set on the back of his teeth. “I’m a warrior, now, Finan.”

“I know, baby monk. But the Danes don’t. Hence, the bullshit,” Finan winks at Sihtric who lobs a slobbery chunk of apple at Finan’s face. Finan flinches in a half-committed dodge, a moaning chuckle catching in his throat at the stiffness in his side. The apple bit hits him squarely in the forehead. Osferth slicks back his hair, grinning at Finan’s misfortune. Sihtric smugly presses another cut of apple to his teeth.

Uhtred calls out to Finan, “So, what are you planning to do?” Uhtred lowers his eyes at him, lacing the leather that binds his shirt.

Finan pants, water pouring from his beard, “I plan to be your sword, Lord. I will ride with you to Bebbanburg.”

“I will not have you riding in this condition, Finan.” Uhtred’s jaw is clenched, neck tensing as he hurriedly ties the opening in his shirt. Osferth pauses, dropping his hands to his side. Sihtric stays his blade, looking up through his brows toward Finan.

“Lord,” Finan rolls his head, looking up to Uhtred at an angle, voice deepening, “I will not be leaving your side.”

“And you wouldn’t be,” Uhtred comments, accent ticking up softly.

“Uhtred…” Finan’s lips press, thick brows arching up into each other in pleading.

“Finan, I’ve made up my mind.” Uhtred squares his shoulders, head cocking slightly.

“I follow you, whether it be as a slave in the belly of a ship, or into battle as an oathman. I’ll not be leaving you now, Uhtred of Bebbanburg.”

Uhtred exhales, voice steady, “I cannot lose you, Finan.”

“And you won’t, Lord.”

The four brothers are quiet, save the water trickling about their waists and ankles. Uhtred crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging atop his tucked hands. “We ride in one moon,” Uhtred responds, decidedly. “But you will have to fight me, Finan,” he croons, smirking. He nods toward just beneath the waterline, “And I will test that side of yours.”

“Thank you, Uhtred,” Finan’s voice hums, dipping his head in earnest, “I will be ready.”

Uhtred sings, nodding, “We will see.”


End file.
